India took a deep breath and told herself to relax.

Usually, it cooled off at night when the Delta breeze swept in. That was what she loved about Northern Cali­fornia. But they’d been going through a terrible heat wave since she’d moved to Whiskey Creek. Part of her discom­fort had to be due to the stress of the situation, but it felt like a hundred degrees outside, as it had been earlier in the day.

“Right. So can you bring the trailer and get my bike?” she heard Rod say. “How would I know? Chief Bennett’s going to give me hell. He might even take me down to the station to get a statement or try to lock me up for the night…True…No, don’t call Dylan or Aaron. I can han­dle my own problems.”

He disconnected and was about to return her phone when he saw he’d gotten blood on it. After wiping it on his jeans, he gave it back. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” She held on to the phone, since she didn’t have a pocket and her purse was in the car. “That was…one of your brothers?”

“Yeah.”

Still no headlights coming from Whiskey Creek. What was taking emergency services so long? She and Rod—and the man who needed the ambulance—weren’t that far from town. “Which one?”

“Grady. He’s driving over to get my bike.”

“Is he older, or…”

“Dylan and Aaron are older. Grady and Mack are younger.”

“Would you mind if I asked how old you are?” They were both young enough that she couldn’t imagine it would be an offensive question.

“Thirty-one. You?”

She considered taking off her heels but was afraid she might cut her foot on a rock, nail or piece of glass. “Thirty.”

“I guessed we were about the same age.”

“When?”

“The other day.”

She ignored that, didn’t want to think about the im­plications. She’d noticed more details about him than she cared to admit; knowing he’d done the same with her didn’t help keep her mind where it needed to be. “So there’re five kids in your family, not three?”

“Right. Dylan and Aaron are married. They live in town with their wives. You met Grady and Mack, who live with me.”

Finally, the faint wailing of a siren drifted to her ears. “And this Natasha? She’s your…?” She knew better than to ask. It sounded as if she was probing, trying to learn whether he had a romantic interest. And yet she was too curious to let it go.

“Little sister. Actually, she’s my stepsister, ever since my father married her mother a few years ago.”

“I see. You have a big family,” she said to shift the focus away from the fact that she’d wanted to find out if Natasha was his girlfriend. “I think I’ve seen your father and stepmother. Are they living with you, too?”

“For now. It was supposed to be a temporary arrange­ment, but it’s been a couple of years and they don’t seem too eager to leave.”

“You’ve got a big house. Having them there wouldn’t be too bad if they’re helping with the mortgage.”

“They aren’t.”

“Then I could see how it might be an imposition.”

His gaze slid over her, taking in every detail of her long, slinky black dress—including the slit up her leg. “What’s your story?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m an only child.”

“From the city?”

“What makes you think I’m from the city?”

“That dress,” he replied. “Women around here don’t wear that type of thing very often.”

“I was born and raised in Oakland.” She’d been living in San Francisco since her marriage to Charlie, however. An art exhibit in the city was a fancy affair. She knew she was overdressed for the small towns along Highway 49, but she’d felt the need to clean up, to feel attractive again, the way she used to feel when Charlie took her out.

“And now you live alone in Whiskey Creek, except for your little girl,” he said.

She stiffened in surprise. “How’d you know I have a little girl?”

“I saw a photograph of her in your car the other day.”

“Oh.” She smiled at the thought of her five-year-old daughter. She missed Cassia so much.

He waited for her to look him in the face again. “Is she staying with her father right now, or…”

“She’s with her grandparents. They offered to keep her until I could get settled.” And because they missed Char­lie as much as she did, India had felt obliged to allow it.

There were other reasons she’d felt she had to let Cas­sia stay with the Sommerses, but those reasons made her stomach churn.

Rod stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So where’s your husband?”

She refused to flinch despite the sting that question caused. “Not everyone who has a child has a husband.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re wearing a ring.”

It’d been so long since she’d been anyplace a man might bother to ask, she hadn’t even remembered, prob­ably because her ring didn’t mean what it was supposed to. Not anymore. Charlie was dead. She’d sold their lovely home because she could no longer bear to live there. She couldn’t divest herself of her ring, too. That symbol of his love meant too much to her. Besides her mother, he was the only person who’d ever treated her as though she mattered, as though she was special enough to de­serve any kind of devotion. She’d since figured out that was a reflection of her own self-esteem at the time, but he’d somehow been able to look beyond that to see what she could be, to help shape her into what she was today.

“Right. My ring,” she said. “Of course. But—” she stared down at her 1.5 carat diamond, remembering the night Charlie had given it to her “—my husband’s…gone.”

Fortunately, a truck came from the direction of the bar, interrupting their conversation before Rod could fol­low up on that. Two men rode in the cab, both of whom knew Rod.

The driver stopped and lowered his window, and the passenger called out to him. “What’s going on, man? You okay?”

They exchanged a few words. Then the guys in the truck asked if Rod needed any help and Rod phoned his brother to say he could send his bike home with Don­ald and Sam. By the time the three of them had used a wooden plank to roll the heavy motorcycle up and into the bed, a policeman arrived—Chief Bennett, accord­ing to his name tag.

“Stand back,” he told them, pushing them even farther to one side of the road. “I’ll talk to you once I get some flares out so no one else gets hurt.”

The ambulance came just as Rod’s friends drove off with his bike. India watched from about ten feet away while two paramedics knelt by the man on the ground and Chief Bennett gave Rod a sobriety test—which, thank­fully, he passed.

India hated to interrupt the paramedics, but they were beginning to load the injured man into the ambulance and she hoped to get some word of his condition before they left. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Most likely,” one of them replied. “Even minor head injuries bleed a lot. I think he’ll be fine.”

“He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos,” the other paramedic piped up.

The first guy jerked his head at the wallet resting on the unconscious man’s chest, which Chief Bennett had used to ID him. “Liam Crockett’s from Dixon. Mustn’t have heard.”

India wanted to ask if Rod was a professional fighter, but they were in too much of a hurry, so she backed away and let them go.

Ever since the police chief had determined that Rod was sober, Bennett had been grilling him on how every­thing had happened. They were still talking, and India didn’t know whether to get in her car and leave, or wait to see if Rod needed a ride home.

“Damn it, Rod,” she heard the police chief say. “You are so damn wild. It’s always something with you.”

Rod was obviously not pleased by that reaction. “I told you. He started it.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see if that’s what he says.”

“You saw my bike! How do you think it got wrecked?”

When Bennett refused to commit himself, Rod con­tinued. “We could’ve settled our differences at the bar. Instead, he followed me and tried to run me off the road. What kind of pussy tries to run someone over instead of fighting like a man?”

“Wait. What do you mean, handle it at the bar?” Ben­nett said. “You bust up Sexy Sadie’s again, you won’t be allowed to go there anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Rod cried. “I’ve never busted up Sexy Sadie’s! You can’t hold me accountable for what my brothers do.”

“One of you is always raising hell,” he said in disgust. “Anyway, I’m going to look into this further. That I can promise you.”

“Fine,” Rod told him. “I hope you do. When that bas­tard wakes up, he should go to jail.”

“If he wakes up,” the police chief grumbled. “God, I’m exhausted. Do you need a ride or—” He looked at India, obviously hoping she’d relieve him of that duty.

“I can take him,” she volunteered. “I’m going that way.”

“Maybe you should drive him over to the hospital first,” he said, “see if he has any broken bones or needs stitches. It shouldn’t take long. They’ve got to be on a first-name basis with him by now.”

Rod shot him a dark scowl. “Quit trying to make me look bad.”

“I don’t need to try,” Bennett said. “Since you can’t stay out of trouble, you make yourself look bad.”

Stepping between them, India touched Rod’s arm to get his attention before he could spout off and get him­self arrested. “Should we go to the hospital?”

He shook his head, suggesting it’d been a ridiculous idea to begin with.

“Can’t hurt to get checked out,” Chief Bennett said, attempting to persuade him.

“No way,” Rod told him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Suit yourself.” With a sigh, Bennett adjusted his heavy belt and trudged over to his car.

All the excitement was over. India raised the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the ground as she returned to the car. She was halfway there before she realized Rod wasn’t following her—and glanced back to see why.

“I can’t even begin to guess where you’ve been to­night,” he said, “but that dress…” Letting his words fade, he ended with a whistle.

“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn’t find his appreciation so gratifying. He was defi­nitely not the type of man she needed. She needed Char­lie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling…abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger’s attention felt like a lifeline.

“What happened here really wasn’t my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”

“Of course,” she responded, and yet she’d heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn’t it? He still wasn’t coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”

Finally, he started walking. “I’m ready, but…maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”

“Like…?”

“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.

India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her. No! she told herself. Not this guy. She couldn’t screw up again.

Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Novak, Inc.